Value Of X
by fourtyfor
Summary: Sodapop Curtis learns that X can't be the solution to every problem. One shot.


_Happy weekend. Here's a oneshot._

 _)()()(_

Let me ask you something.

When did math go so wrong?

I recall the first grade - counting the dots someone drew on a chalk board.

Thinking, _Hey, maybe someday I'll use this counting thing. It might be useful._

Same with addition and subtraction.

I considered multiplication too.

Division was pushing it.

But then math turns to a whole new platform - finding one solution in a load of useless and stupid ways.

It's always an _X._

I don't know why they went ahead and chose _X._ There are so many more interesting letters.

But either way, _X_ is always associated with finding solutions.

What's that? Jimmy's trying to find the amount of money he's received from his tragically deceased grandfather?

 _Find the value of X._

Trying to figure the amount of miles left to your non-existent road trip?

 _Find the value of X._

How many keys are on a goddamned piano?

 _Find the value of X._

Exactly.

Sure.

Because if I'm in a life or death situation, trying to calculate the exact amount of breaths I have left, I'm going to sit around and find the value of _X._

Because _X_ seems to be the solution to everything.

Right?

I'm pretty sure it's not that easy.

But who am I to say that?

I don't think I've found a value of _X_ in my life.

)()()(

When the police show up on the doorstep and tell us about the accident. I don't think I move for a full thirty seconds.

At first I simply cannot comprehend what's happening. Then in the blear of my mind, I somehow think of my math teacher.

He's telling me to find the value of _X._

In my mind I say to him:

 _Well, I guess I'm pretty screwed here, huh?_

 _I don't see an equation, sir._

 _Or an X waiting to be figured out._

 _I see a policeman and he's telling me my parents are dead._

 _What use is algebra here?_

I suppress tears.

Just a few hours ago my parents had been there.

But they aren't anywhere anymore.

)()()(

Telling Darry I'm going to drop out of school.

No more values of _X_ for me.

Or so I think.

This time I'm in it alone. I can't cheat off of anyone else's paper.

I still imagine what I'd say to my math teacher:

 _I thought you said all problems had a single precise answer, sir._

 _Maybe you should be more specific about the sort of 'problems' that you're talking about._

 _Because I can see about a million different answers here, sir, and they're all plausible._

 _I don't particularly care for any of them, though, sir._

I imagine Darry yelling. Rampaging through the house while he throws things.

Tells me how mom and dad would've wanted better out of me.

Whatever he can say to rub me raw.

I want him to do that.

I want him to convince me not to and force me to go back to school.

That hell.

Drag me there by the collar of my shirt if he has to.

Nothing could've prepared me for the small " _Oh,"_ that emits from his mouth.

It's filled with so many different things.

He's angry.

But he's sad.

He's disappointed.

But he's relieved.

He's glad.

But he's guilty.

But most of all I can tell Darry's scared.

That gets me scared too.

Because if even Darry's scared, there's no wall to hide behind.

That's how you know it's bad.

)()()(

When the door slams and Ponyboy leaves.

Darry stares at the palm of his hand. It shines red.

I'm furious.

I think I am.

I don't really know.

The conversation with my math teacher goes like this:

 _So, sir, tell me. What are the factors of this equation?_

 _I can't seem to see them._

 _That's a problem, sir._

 _I don't really have any idea what I'm supposed to do._

I sit still. I'm frozen.

Darry still stares into the palm of his hand.

)()()(

That night Ponyboy comes home from the dance with the left side of his face bruised and his lip busted.

He's grinning a mile a minute.

I'm the only one home. He looks straight to me.

"I hotwired a car tonight," he says proudly.

He looks at me like he's waiting for my approval.

For me to say, _Good job,_ or maybe, _What kind of car?_

Instead I nearly choke on my Pepsi.

Nonononono _nono._

I say to my math teacher:

 _Sir, my little brother is growing up._

 _That's a definite problem._

 _It seems that X has already been found._

 _Now I just need to go back and make the equation the way it was before, sir._

I can't think of anything articulate to say.

"What in the hell happened to your face?"

)()()(

I quit school almost a year ago and it hasn't effected me once.

It takes me awhile, but I finally realize that not every problem has an _X._

Because life isn't an equation.

 _)()()(_

 _Please leave reviews!_


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